


With Violets

by sockssoft



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, FemJohn, Femlock, Fluff, Jealous John, john mentions how sherlock blushes a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6965470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockssoft/pseuds/sockssoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a date to get ready for...or so it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Violets

**Author's Note:**

> this was a commission for the lovely @sidney-paget thank u very much <3

When John strolled down the stairs, putting her short hair into a haphazard bun, she did not expect to discover such a sight. Such a sight of Miss Sherlock Holmes sitting ever so mannerly at the table, her hair done up, her eyes reading over a set of index cards. Sherlock glanced over at John, gave a slight grin, eyes roving back to her notes. Pausing in the doorway, John cleared her throat, tilting her head quizzically.

“Uh,” she said, perplexed. “Sherlock, what’s this—” John approached, scanning the empty dishes set on the table, the dusty tablecloth, and most of all: Sherlock’s concentrating face. “—all about?”

“Er, if I say experiment…” Sherlock whispered distractedly, still reading over the cards held tightly in her slender fingers.    

“I won’t believe you, yeah,” huffed John. “Did a butler kill someone or—something about how the table setting will lead to the murderer?” John eyed the way Sherlock had labeled the dishes with tiny Post-it notes, things labeled “violets here” and “fig. 2: use that tiny fork” scattered around the surface.

“It’s for a case,” Sherlock replied guiltily, her hands shaking ever so faintly.

“ _Hm_ , a case?” John’s eyebrows arched up, her arms crossing. “So I was right?”

Sherlock grumbled, flipping through the index cards again, her hand coming up to scratch at her messy curls, unpinning the locks in the process.

“Yes!” she burst suddenly, her face blotched. “Yes, John! As _usual_.” She stretched the vowel sounds, her fingers fidgeting as if to announce the period at the end of her declaration.

John, still worried, pulled out the opposite chair and took a seat. She placed her elbows on the table and observed the frantic—almost embarrassed—expression of her flat-mate. She decided on something.

“So it was twins?”

Sherlock, in her utter obliviousness, muttered, “ _Erm_ , yes, John. Elbows off, please thank you,” before whispering whatever was written on the now weary notes.

“Ha,” John pointed out. “It’s never twins!”

Startled, Sherlock looked up, her cards sliding from her fingers and onto the table.

“You always say it isn’t twins so you’re just pulling my leg, Sherlock,” John continued. “Tell me what this is really about, yeah?” After seeing the way Sherlock’s cheeks blossomed into pink, she added, softly: “I mean. If you want to. Of course.”

Sighing, caught in her secrecy, Sherlock threw her hands up and leaned back in her chair now, rocking back and forth on the two sturdy chair legs. “Fine!” she said shrilly, voice mimicking her blushing tones. “You’ve caught me, John. It’s not for a case. It’s for a preparation.”

There was a pause. John pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes narrowing with surprise. “You mean a date.”

“I wouldn’t…” Sherlock looked away, shrugging.

In the same moment, a heat immersed itself through John’s stomach, through her fists and lying low in her gut. She smiled even though that fire twisted inside herself, unwelcome. She forced the smile more, attempting to come off as supportive. And she was. Of course. She was happy for Sherlock, indeed. But that fire warmed like a hearth inside her chest, making her mind enflame with thoughts of ungrateful men, of lovers that would not appreciate Sherlock. Of Sherlock getting hurt, of Sherlock with another. John shook her head.

“Who’s the lucky…?” she paused, contemplating.  

“Girl,” Sherlock replied, her voice small. “Woman,” she corrected quickly. “Well. Ah.”

Boyfriends aren’t her area, right. John huffed, her inquiries about Sherlock’s romantic interests now coming to a halt. If only she had pushed further that first night they had dinner with each other. If only she held Sherlock’s hand when she was frightened by the hounds, held her close in the smoky inn at Baskerville. Now, it was too late. The mystery of Sherlock Holmes was still unsolved, but John seemed overwhelmed, though unsurprised, at the latest revelation of Sherlock’s love interests.

“Well, congratulations then,” John smiled, her hands clenched underneath the table. “This must be a bit—” she looked at her notes, at Sherlock’s flustered demeanor. “—exciting for you?”

“Oh, obviously,” she brushed off. “You just can’t be too prepared. Impressions, and all.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” John said.   

Sherlock gulped. “A-And, what if I’m not?”

“What’s not to like?”

Sherlock’s mouth opened a bit, soon closing as she brushed her thumb against her bottom lip.

“So you think this is too much?”

“For you, not really.”

“But it is?” Sherlock questioned, her lip now protruding.

Sighing, John rubbed her forehead and gave a half-hearted shrug. “Why don’t you read one of those cards for me?”

Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, Sherlock wiggled in her chair and tapped the cards against the table in preparation.

“Ah—” Sherlock glanced at John before beginning. “—Ahem. What’s your middle name?” She looked back at John, eyes wide, but all John did was lean closer, her head tilted. “Let’s go to another one then,” Sherlock mumbled, flipping through the cards. “What did you do in uni?”

John scrunched her nose. “Sherlock? Can’t you deduce this from her?”

Waving her off, Sherlock replied, “I wrote a friendly reminder to _not_ deduce. As it bothers some.”

“Well if she can’t handle you deducing people then she shouldn’t—” John paused, her hands gripping the table. Looking at Sherlock’s startled reaction, she softened and murmured, “Sorry. I just. It’s not my business.”

“No,” Sherlock blinked, biting her lip. “It’s fine. Really. If she doesn’t like me then, what’s the point?” After an off-beat moment of stillness, Sherlock added, mouth pinched together, “See her laterz then.”  

At that, John chuckled, her breaths high-pitched, eyes watery. John loved a little word play, the funny sounds Sherlock could make. When John looked back at Sherlock, she found her flat-mate’s eyes still watching her. God, did John wish she was the one in this stranger’s place.

“I might need some practice, though,” Sherlock admitted abruptly, her eyes wandering away to inspect the grain of the table.

“Oh yeah?” John noted that she better keep her voice from getting too raspy, as Sherlock wasn’t that naïve. Or perhaps it made her flat-mate uncomfortable. She was going on a date after all, with another woman.

“Yes. Why use notes when I could have the real thing?”

John’s chest tightened, her breath catching for only a second. Sherlock had taken the time to stretch her long legs, striding across the room. She was in the midst of thought, stumping on the floor until she came to a bright eureka moment on top of their coffee table. Strangely, Sherlock did not explain her findings and instead declared,

“John, I want you to tell me what to do.”

“Er—”

“How to act, to behave, to woo and seduce. My— _erm_ , date. Would appreciate it greatly.”

“I told you already you don’t need to try that hard. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Sherlock rolled her eyes, tapping her heels on the table. “John, I’m asking you politely to help me, not to change me.” She glanced up, her lashes fluttering. “I just need a step or two in the right direction.”

“Let me help then,” whispered John, blinking gently.

 

John’s heart quickened its pace, but the words ‘help me’ stumbled across her mind, giving her strength to speak and lead. Sherlock needed her. Sherlock wanted her help. Help John would always supply. They were arranged on the sofa, discarding the make-shift dinner scene. Their thighs were touching, John was fully aware, but she directed her gaze at Sherlock.

“Casual touching is fine,” directed John. “As long as your date allows it.”

Sherlock scooted closer and _booped_ John’s arm softly. “…like this?”

“Ah,” she smiled. “Touching more like—” John reached for Sherlock’s hand and held it in hers. “—is this alright?”

Sherlock nodded, her eyes wide in what had to be observation, while her lip trembled. Nerves, John believed. Sherlock’s hand was soft and warm and gave a gentle squeeze as John looked into her eyes.

“It’s alright,” Sherlock whispered, her mouth pulled up in-between a smile and a gasp.

John could not stop herself from gazing at her face, eyes darting between her eyes, lips, and their hands clasped together, like wilting violets. At the worst possible moment in John’s dear life, there came a hesitant knock at the door. Standing up quickly, John felt their fingers slip away reluctantly. She gave a smile to Sherlock, wearily soft.

“I’m assuming that’s your date?”

John approached the door while Sherlock stood up in surprise.

“No, wait, John—”

Opening the door, John sized up her opponent—er, well, Sherlock’s _date_ , and gave a quiet nod of affirmation.

“Ah, very nice. Come in,” John waved her hand out, her other one fidgeting by her hip.

The woman glanced between them, stumbling over her words.

“Y-Yes, well, I thought I should explain myself about the—”

“No need for explaining,” John smiled. “Sherlock’s right there, _oh_.”

John laughed silently when she saw the very startled expression on her flat-mate’s face, the way her cheeks tinted, her mouth open slightly. Right. John grunted. It must be her date which caused her to be so—shy and timid.   

“Um, John. I think you need to know something…”

“Oh, right.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “I should,” looking, around, John felt somewhat lost, “…get going then. Don’t want to make this awkward.”

“Don’t you usually do it with both of you in the room?” the woman chirped.

John’s head turned comically slow, her brow arched. “What now?”

“We all. Sit down? I’m rather sure you’re an important part in this?” the stranger added, unsure now. “That’s what the papers indicate anyway. And your blog.”   

   “You found Sherlock through my blog?”

John resisted the urge to seem smug and instead crossed her arms, still protective of this romantic intruder.

“Why, yes. I contacted you about the handcuff…incident, but Miss Holmes said it was too dull.”

John took a step forward, blocking Sherlock from her view. Of course Sherlock would think it was too dull. John attempted not to die on the spot. “Are you,”’ she cleared her throat. “You’re not talking about…” John flicked her eyes at Sherlock’s blanch complexion and threw daggers back at this peculiar woman standing sheepishly in their living room.

“The case, yes. Don’t you remember it, Dr. Watson?”

John looked down, frowning in confusion.

“So. Right. Yeah,” she seemed to be in a state of repetitive nodding.

“You remember the case then?”

“Uh no,” John replied curtly. “It must have been dull then.”

She caught Sherlock grinning behind her.

“So…you’re not her date?”

The client, eyes wide, shook her head and said, “I’m here because my husband was robbed while handcuffed to a mailbox…”

At that, Sherlock burst into laughter, her eyes watering. John glanced back at her, at her rosy cheeks and the wild curls that bounced across her soft face. Softly, softly, John smiled, her own chest filling with not fire but the warm crackles of summer firewood.

“If you’d excuse us, Miss, I need to consult with the detective for a moment.”

Practically slamming the door behind the client (who was in the midst of exclaiming that the papers were right,) John waited until the room was utterly still before speaking. There was a faint halo of light that checkered itself across Sherlock’s features, illuminating her neck and the earnestness in her gaze.

“Sherlock,” John whispered, “There wasn’t ever a date, was there?”

“S-spot on, John. Right as ever.”

Looking down and up through her lashes, Sherlock twiddled with her fingers, twisting them beside her stomach. The storm of Sherlock Holmes calmed in that moment, and finally John could decipher that those gentle glances and intense looks were of longing all along. All this time. All along. John felt herself step closer, her hands hesitating beside Sherlock’s hands.

“M-May I?”

Sherlock nodded in a tiny movement as John placed her hand in hers once more.

“You were practicing,” John said, concentrating on the realness of their hands together.

“No, John. I was fantasizing,” admitted Sherlock.

“About this?” John held her hand tighter and lifted it up, pressing her lips against Sherlock’s pale skin.

“Y-Yes,” her breath caught, chest heaving.

“You were tricking me,” John grinned.

“A bit…”

Sherlock leaned closer, pressing her lips against John’s cheek.

“Not good?” she murmured against hot skin.

“No, perfect,” John replied, her lips finding Sherlock’s.

They kissed like the push and pull of the tide, giving and taking. John’s lips found the wetness of Sherlock’s, discovered the plumpness of how the bottom one trembled. Their hands reached tighter, tighter hands and tighter grasps until they were both breathless and lost.

“Let’s have a date then,” John declared.

“With violets too?”

“Sure, love. With violets.”       

**Author's Note:**

> thank you!!


End file.
